


You'll Be Safe

by pumpkinless



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean is Katniss Everdeen, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never planned to volunteer for the Hunger Games, but it's not like he can just let Sam go compete in them. Regardless of what happens in there, he's going to come back if it's the last thing he does. The only thing he doesn't expect is Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be Safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orderandlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderandlight/gifts).



> Longer than originally planned, certainly, but I think it'll work for my introduction here. :B Birthday present for the lovely Rebecca and also the ficlet I owed her because this is more than a ficlet and far more than I planned for her birthday.

Meg tackles him from behind. Dean’s quick though, quicker than she expects, and he twists mid-fall so she lands on the ground. He leaps up as soon as he can, pulling his knife out of his boot and turns to face her.

They face off, and Dean is overly aware of the cameras that are capturing their every move. God, he hopes Sammy looks away from the television.

Meg attacks first, dagger brandished in her hand as she swings at Dean with a calculated thrust. Dean hisses as the blade nicks his arm and grabs her other hand to twist it away.

She’s surprisingly strong, bearing down on him steadily, showing no sign of breaking a sweat even as Dean cuts her shoulder open. Dean, though, he’s stronger, has been sparring with his little brother for years, and he kicks at her shins. Meg shouts, spring backward, and Dean doesn’t see where he’s stepping

He’s down, cracking his head on the trunk of a tree as Meg flings herself on top of him because she isn’t wasting the opportunity. Meg grins as she brings the knife to Dean’s throat, the sight fading in and out of Dean’s blackening vision.

Neither of them expects a gun to go off and put a bullet in the side of Meg’s head, but it happens anyway. Dean passes out just as her eyes glaze over.

\--

He’s cold when he wakes up, the sound of the river in his ear, and Dean can’t remember what happened to him. He struggles to think past the throbbing in his temple, but Dean went down harder than he thought when Meg jumped on him. Right, Meg, who got her head blown off, and somehow Dean is still alive.

“Hey, don’t move yet,” a low voice says, holding Dean’s shoulder down as he tries to sit up.”

“Grauh akd siaf,” Dean says, squinting. Black hair, pale skin, but his vision is still to fuzzy to make out any more than that.

“Don’t worry, they can’t get to us here. There are easier people to kill this early in the game,” the boy says. “Thirsty?”

Dean drinks from the proffered canteen. Most of it dribbles out of the corners of his mouth, but the little bit he swallows helps to clear his throat. “Wha’ ’appened?” Dean mumbles, closing his eyes against the bright sky.

“I gunned down that demon bitch on top of you and dragged you back to my cave,” the boy says, voice hinting at amusement. “You’re lucky I got to you when I did.”

“Wha’s your name?” Dean asks thickly.

“Castiel. And you’re Dean Winchester, Savior of District 12.”

“How do you know me?”

“I paid attention in the trials,” Castiel says, “unlike you, apparently.”

“Had more imp’tant things t’ do, Cast—Casa—fuck, Cas. Your name’s dumb,” Dean grumbles.

“Thank you,” Cas says dryly. “How’s your head?”

“Not as bad,” Dean admits, blinking his eyes open. His tongue doesn’t feel quite as thick in his mouth anymore. Cas is leaning over him, bright blue eyes scanning Dean’s face critically. “Why didn’t you shoot me?”

Cas’ face turns feral, baring his teeth through a too-wide smile as he shows Dean his gun. “I still could, if you want.”

“No!” Dean yelps. “No, I’m good.”

“Good. Then I propose an alliance.”

Dean frowns at him. Hasn’t anybody ever told Cas this isn’t how you make friends? “How do you know I’ll be any help to you?”

“You have a sleeping bag,” Cas says, “and I watched you in training. You’re much smarter than you let on.”

“You want me for my _sleeping bag_?” Dean asks incredulously. “What the hell?”

“It probably gets cold at night,” Cas says, shrugging. “I didn’t grab survival things because I knew you would. I got weapons instead.”

“How could you know that?” Dean mutters, struggling to sit up. His head pounds and his back pulls, but he feels otherwise fine. No broken bones or anything.

“I watched you,” Castiel says easily, sliding away now that he’s sure Dean isn’t going to pass out again. “You paid attention to survival during training—it was obvious that was your game plan. I grabbed you a bow, by the way, I don’t know if you got one of those.”

“I—no, I didn’t,” Dean says, flabbergasted. “What the actual _hell_?”

Cas graces him with a small smile but says nothing more as he hands over a quiver of arrows. Dean lets his gaze linger on Cas dubiously for a moment, but he hasn’t been shot yet. He counts the arrows—fifteen, and all of far better quality than he’s ever had in his life—and runs his fingers along the bow. It’s made of a soft, supple wood he doesn’t recognize, and the string hums quietly when he plucks it with his finger.

Dean swallows thickly, wonders if his village is watching him now. “What district are you from?” he asks without looking Castiel in the eye.

“Three,” Cas murmurs, digging through the backpack Dean grabbed from the Cornucopia. Dean watches—he didn’t have time to go through it before Meg attacked—and is glad to see food and a water purifier along with the sleeping bag. Useful, then, and totally worth ignoring Bobby’s warnings for.

When night falls and music sounds from outside, Dean crawls out of the cave he and Castiel tucked themselves into and watches as the sky lights up with the deaths of that day. He recognizes three of them—Meg Masters, Dick Roman, and Lisa Braeden—and then are five others he doesn’t know by name. Dean turns back, and Castiel is right behind him with a somber look on his face.

“Anna is still out there,” he says lowly, still looking at the sky.

“Jo, too,” Dean whispers, his heart heavy. Because Jo is barely older than Sam, and Dean could only volunteer for one of them, and she is wandering the wilderness, probably cold and alone. Dean knows, if he makes it back, he will go bearing the news of Jo’s death to her mother.

“Come on,” Castiel says finally, tugging Dean back into the cave. Cold is setting in with the darkness, and they lay wordlessly next to each other in the sleeping bag, back to back.

Before he knows it, Dean is crying, because all he can think of is all the times he slept in Sam’s bed to comfort him from nightmares, how Sam was always so warm and begging to have Dean sing him to sleep. Dean can’t sing, can’t really carry a real tune, but that never stopped Sammy from nodding off at the sound of his lullaby.

“Hey,” Cas whispers, turning over in the sleeping bag and wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist. “You’ll get back to them. I promise you, you will get back to them, whatever it takes.”

“Why do you care?” Dean asks, and he has to bite his fist to stop from sobbing.

But Cas doesn’t answer him. He pulls Dean closer to him until they are back to chest and he buries his nose the hair at the base of Dean’s neck, and Dean falls asleep to the feeling of tears on his neck.

\--

Hunting game takes Dean’s mind off the game. It feels like he’s back in District 12, putting food on the table and making enough money to keep Sam in clothes without holes and leave his dad with enough money to drown himself in cheap whiskey. A skinny rabbit sits just twenty steps away, nosing curiously at a bush, and Dean aims at its eye.

His heartbeat thuds in his ears with the thrill of the hunt, and he lets his arrow fly.

It strikes dead-on, and the rabbit flops limply to the ground. Dean grins to himself in victory, slinging his bow over his shoulder and hiking up the hill. This is the first animal he’s seen, and it’s the fourth day already. He and Cas have been surviving on the food in Dean’s backpack while Districts four, eight, nine, and eleven disappear from the arena. Eleven other tributes are still out there, including the other halves of their districts, and Dean can’t help but feel that something’s going to happen soon to drastically cut that number down.

It happens before he expects it to.

His mouth is covered and his bow is wrenched off his shoulder, and Dean falls forward when his feet are kicked out from under him. His hands are tied, his feet are tied, and a gag is stuffed into his mouth as he is paralyzed in pain from a jab to the back of his neck.

As he is rolled over, Dean realizes he doesn’t even know the man’s name. He is the District 1 tribute, is all Dean knows, and his breath is foul from where it spills between his yellow teeth. Dean tries to shout for Castiel, but the fabric stuffed into his mouth quiets him.

“We’re going to have so much fun, you and I,” the boy laughs into Dean’s ear, his hands rucking up Dean’s shirt, and Dean thinks hysterically that this _can’t_ be allowed in the rules, but no ships sweep down to save his struggling body.

A knife presses against his chest and carves into him, and Dean screams at the jagged edge of it. He doesn’t understand why he’s still living, why he’s living while _this_ happens, oh god, he’s going to bleed out on the forest floor and—

“Calm down, baby, it’s alright,” the boy says, patting Dean with wet fingers. Dean whimpers as he smells the sticky blood stain his lips and cheek, and his chest is on _fire_.

“Hey, assbutt,” someone snarls. There’s a shot and the boy with the knife collapses on Dean’s chest.

“Dean,” Cas says, terror ringing through his voice as he falls to his knees, shoving the body away and pulling the gag out of Dean’s mouth. “Dean, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says thickly, because he will. It’s just a couple of cuts, no big deal. Dean’s had worse. He just hopes Sam doesn’t see this; he doesn’t want Sam to see any of this.

\--

The cuts are shallow. The bleeding is mostly stopped by the time Cas drags Dean back to their cave, and he uses the remainder of Dean’s shirt to wrap his chest and clean the blood away from his face.

Dean wakes just in time to shuffle outside and see the faces of the newly dead. Today, it’s a stranger, a boy named Crowley, and the one who attacked Dean. He stares at the sky long after the hologram fades away, lost in thought. Cas turns the rabbit on the fire one last time and douses the flame with sand—he must have gone back for the animal after Dean passed out.

“What was his name?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas glances at him sideways. “Alastair, from District 1.”

A career, then. Dean’s never known one of the careers to be so vicious in any of the games he has ever seen.

They eat the rabbit quietly together, and when it’s time to sleep, Cas doesn’t ask before he wraps his arms around Dean and pulls them tightly together. Dean closes his eyes, lets himself imagine that they are not here, but somewhere else, where their existence means more than survival.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” Castiel whispers just as Dean is slipping into sleep, and Dean almost answers until he feels the careful press of lips at the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

When they wake up, Dean’s face is pressed into Castiel’s collarbone and their legs are tangled together. They extract themselves with grace and shame, and Dean puts on his most brazen smile.

\--

In retrospect, it was rather stupid to assume that because nothing terrible happened the first four days they would be safe hiding in the cave forever. The Capitol likes to see them run and fight, and Dean and Castiel sitting around in the cover of darkness doesn’t hold quite the same satisfaction as seeing them tear out of the forest as fast as their legs can go.

Thankfully, Dean woke up to the smell of smoke, and they stuffed the sleeping bag back into the backpack and sprinted away from the river. Dean sees animals fleeing with them, rabbits and mice and even once a deer, and he clutches his bow ever tighter to his body.

He must run forever, it feels like, until he can no longer breathe or ignore the burn in his legs, and still he keeps running. The scratches on Dean’s chest tear open again, and he continues to run.

Castiel refuses to leave his side no matter how many times Dean shouts for him to go, and when the fire stops raging after them, he leads Dean further away.

“Too close, don’t stop,” Cas gasps, fingers curling weakly around Dean’s arm and tugging him forward. Exhausted, Dean follows him, almost asleep on his feet as adrenaline pours through his veins. Cas finds a tree and boots Dean up into the fork. It’s not the most hidden space, as he drapes the sleeping bag over both of them, but it’s off the ground and even vaguely comfortable, if Dean doesn’t concentrate, and he doesn’t.

\--

The next several days, they wander the arena. They meet no one and find no water—by the third day, Dean is delirious with dehydration and Castiel isn’t doing much better. Soon, it won’t matter that Dean keeps shooting squirrels and roasting them in the middle of day so their fire cannot be easily seen, because they don’t have water to go with the meat.

Castiel claims a boy from District 6 died in the fire—Crow or something was his name—but since then, everything has been quiet.

That means it’s only a matter of time.

They literally _walk_ into Balthazar’s path—he’s going perpendicular to them, and they meet at the center.

“Well, well, well, what have we got here?” Balthazar says. Dean remembers this guy from training, knows he’s snarky and full of himself, and the only reason why he’s still here is because he’s clever at mooching off of others. His skill sets outside of that are sadly lacking, and Dean wonders what group he stayed with and why he isn’t with them now.

“Balthazar,” Cas says guardedly, stepping in front of Dean. He appreciates the protectiveness, he really does, but it’s bull right now. They’re both just as exhausted and Dean’s cuts are only mildly infected; he can take care of himself just as well as Cas can.

Balthazar’s eyes flip between them. “Angel-boy and his hunter,” he murmurs. “You’re certainly a unique little pair.”

“What’s it to you?” Dean asks loudly, shifting his bow to his left hand.

“Hey, I’m not threatening anyone here,” Balthazar says, looking pointedly at the bow. Dean holds his ground; he’s not here to turn around and start trusting every smarmy sweet-talker who lays eye on him. “Calm your boytoy, Cassy, before he puts someone’s eye out.”

“The only eyes I’ll be putting out are yours,” Dean snarls, head swimming. “What do you want?”

“Me? Nothing. I’m here to hide, boys, and keep hiding until you all kill each other running around like chickens with your heads cut off,” Balthazar says, twirling a knife between his fingers. “It’s the other five you have to worry about.”

“Keep moving, then,” Cas says. “If you have no quarrel with us, you’ll keep moving.”

Balthazar snorts. “Of course, Cassy. Good bye, boys, I do have to say I hope we never meet again.”

Dean watches him stride off into the trees, and he can’t resist calling out, “They’ll bring you back into their game eventually, Balthazar. They always bring them back.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

Cas and Dean watch Balthazar through the trees until he disappears from sight, and with a wordless glance they keep moving.

“District 10,” Cas says. “Their other tribute died the first day here.”

“I hope Jo’s okay,” Dean says.

“She seemed like she could take care of herself,” Cas says diplomatically.

That night, they stumble upon a stream and follow it to a clearing surrounded by bushes. The cool water feels amazing on Dean’s sweaty skin, and he bathes himself as best he can in a stream that goes no further down than his ankles.

No deaths that day. Dean doesn’t know if that’s good or bad news anymore.

Castiel lies down next to him, and Dean rolls to press his face into Cas’ chest. They don’t talk about this thing between them, and Dean doesn’t want to. It’s more complicated than allies now, not quite friends because they are well on the road to something else, and Dean just wants to feel the warmth radiating off Castiel.

Cas doesn’t get this message. “What’s your family like?” he asks quietly, hand coming up to grip Dean’s shoulder.

“That’s—they’re not something I like to talk about,” Dean says after a moment. “I love them, but. It’s hard. When I’m in here.”

Nodding like he understands, Cas says, “I feel much the same. I wasn’t sure what else we could talk about, though.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Dean offers.

“I enjoy talking to you.”

Dean wants to kiss this boy with the heartbeat pounding loudly under his ear. He wonders if Cas would be alright with that, if his lips long for Dean’s mouth as well, because Dean feels very much in love at this moment.

He tries to reconcile it with himself, saying, _It’s just because he saved your life; that’s the only reason you feel this way_ , but that’s not _true_. They are both capable; they are equal to each other.

Castiel shifts beneath his head, and Dean finds himself being rolled to the side so Cas can prop himself up on one elbow over Dean’s head. His other hand traces up Dean’s throat, across his jaw, over to the swell just below Dean’s bottom lip, and he whispers, “May I?”

“Yes,” Dean says, but barely any sound comes out.

Castiel’s forefinger traces the outline of Dean’s lips contemplatively, leaving his mouth tingling and warm already. Dean inhales shakily when Castiel’s thumb presses on his bottom lip with just enough pressure that the tip is held in Dean’s mouth, and when Dean glances into Castiel’s eyes, he gasps with what he sees there.

“I would like,” Cas says, leaning down so his stubble can scrape at Dean’s cheek as he whispers into his ear, “to kiss you.”

Dean’s hips twitch without his permission and he says breathlessly, “ _Please_.”

He comes to Dean’s lips slowly, dragging across his chin and leaning their foreheads together, and Dean feels like this _means_ something more than two desperate boys in the middle of the woods fighting for their lives. Castiel kisses him like he does everything, carefully and slowly until he throws himself in headfirst.

“Cas,” Dean moans when the kiss breaks. His voice is almost as low as Castiel’s, dark with need, and he surges upward to reconnect their mouths.

Cas moans this time, his body slowly falling onto Dean’s as Dean pulls his head down. Nipping at Castiel’s lip, Dean urges him down, pulls his hips until they are perfectly aligned in every way, and Dean has to arch his neck back to catch his breath. Cas presses hot kisses down Dean’s neck, rolling his hips down into Dean’s, and Dean groans into the cool air above his head.

“Wait, hold on,” Castiel says, gasping as he tries to keep Dean from moving and stop his own body at the same time. “Stop, stop, just—”

And he rolls off Dean, which is twenty kinds of _fuck no_ , until Dean sees he’s just taking his pants off. That’s a good idea, and Dean quickly follows suit—not like they have a lot of clothes out here, and the more skin to skin contact, the better.

“Shirt too,” Dean says when Castiel tries to kiss him again, and he has to pat himself on the back when he sees Cas completely naked. He’s wiry, strong, like you could bend him but he would refuse to break, and that’s just what Dean loves about him.

They crash back together, Dean’s hands gripping Castiel’s ass and thrusting upward helplessly. Cas groans into Dean’s neck, tongue licking at his pulse point wetly, and Dean knows he’s almost gone.

He gets a good grip on Castiel’s hair and forces their mouths together, and it’s not even really a kiss. They breathe harshly into each other’s mouths like there is nothing else in the world, and for Dean, there isn’t, not right now. His eyes roll back into his head as he comes, pleasure shooting from his toes as he rocks up against Castiel helplessly, and Cas comes just after him with a choked whimper.

Dean feels disgusting about ten minutes later, with sweat and come cooling on his skin, fusing them together, but Dean can’t manage the effort to make Cas move off him.

Eventually, Cas huffs into the crook of Dean’s neck and looks up. He looks sleepy and sated, and he kisses Dean sloppily, their tongues curling around each other happily. Dean’s hands stroke up and down Castiel’s back because he can’t stop touching, and when they finally climb away from each other, he’s already half-asleep.

\--

A cannon sounds in the early dawn, jerking Dean awake as he bangs the top of his head against Cas’ chin. He can’t help but think it’s unusually early for someone to be dead already, when the sky has barely faded into gray, and Cas is one step ahead of him.

“Something’s happening,” he says urgently, wriggling out of the sleeping bag. Dean sighs; he was sort of hoping that they’d sleep in until noon together and wake up and get off again, but he already knew that was nothing but a pipe dream. Still, they never bothered to put clothes on last night, and Dean gets an eyeful of a great ass as Cas bends over to grab his shirt off the ground. He’s not complaining.

Dean scrambles into his clothing—a bird screeches somewhere far off into the distance as he pulls his boots on. Castiel’s eyes meet his and they spring into action, rolling up the sleeping back and packing everything into the backpack. Dean slings his quiver over his shoulder—short two arrows now, but he’s being careful with them and retrieving every one. Cas cocks his shotgun after they climb out of the bushes surrounding their clearing, holding it easily at his side.

“We should stay close to the stream,” Castiel says, scanning the trees. He turns suddenly, brushing a soft kiss at the corner of Dean’s mouth with a tender look in his eyes.

“Hi,” Dean says, breath caught in his chest. “Sleep well?”

Grinning, Cas says, “Very.”

The day grows hot quickly, and Dean deeply regrets not washing himself off more thoroughly last night as another layer of sweat pools on his skin. Cas doesn’t look like he’s doing much better than Dean, face shining in the heat. They don’t have a destination—they’re just following the water, wherever it takes them.

“We should stop,” Dean says hours later when the sun has just passed its highest point. “Just for a little while.”

They rest beneath a tree, trying to stay close enough to gather in the dwindling shade, but the heat from their bodies just makes it worse. Dean, though, can’t stop touching Cas, and he throws an arm around them. Cas grumbles sleepily and turns his face into Dean’s shoulder, sighing.

Dean dozes off lightly, eyes drooping closed and chin falling to his chest. His dreams are strangely lucid, full of Sam and the woods and freedom. He wakes up to see Cas’ head in his lap, blinking up at Dean sleepily.

“Who’s Sam?” Cas asks, voice thick with exhaustion.

“My little brother,” Dean says.

“The one you volunteered for,” Castiel says, nodding in agreement with himself. “What’s he like?”

Dean hesitates. “He’s...he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he answers. “He has this stupid cat that eats all the moldy parts of our food and won’t let me get rid of it, even though he’s allergic to cats. Says no creature deserves to die just because it isn’t wanted.” Swallowing the lump in his throat away, he adds, “He’s my baby brother, and I’m gonna die for him.”

“You really love him,” Cas says, voice laced with something Dean can’t identify.

“What about you?” Dean asks, trying to divert some attention from his sorry life. He’d bet his left arm that this scene is being broadcast live all across Panem. “You have any little brothers?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m the youngest of five. My brothers, they were too old to volunteer for me.”

“What are their names?”

“The oldest is Michael, then Lucifer, Raphael, and  Inias.  Inias and I were closest,” Cas says. He reaches out for Dean’s hand and traces the lines on the palm with his finger. “They’re all much older than me; I can barely remember Michael and Lucifer being around when I was a child.  Inias always said he and I were going to take over my parents’ bakery one day.”

“I can’t see you working in a bakery,” Dean says. Cas’ path on his hand tickles, and he flexes his fingers experimentally. “You have a carpenter’s hands.”

“I often burn bread,” Castiel agrees. “It’s not my dream, but I wouldn’t mind. It’s good work, hard work, and it’s rewarding for its own sake.”

“I—” Dean starts, but he cuts himself off. “Listen,” he hisses.

Definitely footsteps.

Dean springs to his feet, Cas close behind, and starts scrambling up the tree with his bow slung over his back. He’s frantic and not very quiet, and he keeps moves until the higher branches don’t look like they’ll support him anymore. Cas perches like a bird in the next tree, and Dean turns his attention back to the ground as soon as he knows they’re both safe.

It’s the careers—what’s left of them at least—Lilith and Azazel, and the girl from District 7 who keeps following them around. Her name might be Ruby. They’re laughing loudly, and Dean almost screams when he makes out the girl Ruby is dragging along by the hair. It’s Jo, kicking and struggling with her arms bound behind her back.

“We know you’re out there, Winchester,” Ruby cries. “Come here and get your little bitch girl!”

Dean draws an arrow before he can think, aiming it at Ruby’s neck. He can practically see the blood pounding through her jugular and the way it will bubble up around his arrow, and he starts counting down.

Three.

Two.

“Hey,” someone whispers behind him. Dean starts, his grip on the bow going lose as he turns to look.

It’s a girl with flaming red hair, lighting her up like a beacon surrounded by green leaves. She looks familiar, but Dean can’t name her face or district.

She points at Dean, holds up a knife, and points just below him. Dean turns around slowly, not sure what to expect, but there’s a tracker jacker nest hanging about four feet under his boots.

He swings around to face the girl, and she mimes cutting it until it falls to the ground. Dean shakes his head violently, trying to wordless show her that the captive girl down there is from _his_ district, but she just gestures more insistently.

Cas is staring below them when Dean tries to get him to back him up, and Dean follows his gaze unintentionally. Jo is on her knees and face, Ruby’s foot planted firmly on her back.

“Just get rid of her,” Azazel says uninterestedly. “Winchester will know who killed her when he finds out tonight.”

Ruby slits Jo’s throat before Dean can get his bow up.

His mind goes to a deadly calm place as the cannon sounds and he hangs his bow on a sturdy branch and turns around. Dean climbs down a single branch, just enough to reach the one he needs as he pulls out his knife. Cas is out of his sight now, just beyond the tree trunk, and Dean gets  to work on the branch holding the tracker jacker nest. It’s not terribly wide, thankfully, and fairly short, and Dean is confident it will fall to the ground and attack the careers, instead of him.

When it falls, Dean just grins at their screaming.

The girl is the first one to climb back to the ground when evening hits, long after Jo’s body shimmers out of sight. The tracker jackers took off after the careers, but Dean hasn’t heard the telltale sound of a cannon yet, and that means they’re still out there. Hopefully they’re not doing so well.

Dean is silent as he jumps the last few feet to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face and wincing at how disgusting he feels. He was never used to being clean until he spent a few days at the Capitol.

“Anna,” Castiel says, embracing the girl as soon as he climbs down. “I’ve been so worried.”

“No need, Cas,” she says affectionately. “I’ve been surviving.”

Smiling thinly, Castiel turns to Dean and says, “Dean, this is Anna Milton. She is the other tribute from my district, and my sister-in-law.”

Dean raises his eyebrows despite himself. “Sister-in-law? Aren’t you a little young for his brothers?”

“My older sister married his brother Michael,” Anna says. “It’s a matter of technicality.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asks suddenly, steadying Dean with his hand. Dean hadn’t even realized he was swaying until then.

“Jo. She was...we grew up together,” Dean mumbles, forehead falling to rest on Cas. “Sammy had the giantest crush on her when he was a kid, you don’t even know.”

Cas just wraps his arms around Dean and lets him burrow in.

\--

Dean wants Anna gone. Not _dead_ gone, just gone, back out on her own without him and Castiel, because Cas doesn’t touch him as much with her around. Dean never noticed the way their arms always brushed as they walked or the way Castiel would lay a light hand  on his back while they ate. Now, there is nothing, and as night falls, Cas unzips the sleeping bag so all three of them can use it as a blanket.

Shivering, Dean tries to pretend this is okay with him. He grits his teeth and pretends it doesn’t  matter, even though it does. Because something about Anna rubs him the wrong way and Dean doesn’t trust her yet. Just because she’s from Castiel’s district doesn’t mean she’s not as desperate to win this as they are, and Dean has no idea if she’s the type to cut loose on family to save her life.

The worst part of this is, it makes Dean think about Cas’ intentions. He never really answered Dean’s questions on the first day about why he chose an alliance with Dean, just mentioned that he might be useful for a while. Dean doesn’t know if he’s going to become use _less_ at some point in time, and his heart aches.

Dean never believed that love could live, and he’s not about to start now.

\--

One night, a cannon goes off. Following that, a voice broadcasts over the arena and says, “There has been a change of rules. From here on out, two tributes may be crowned champions. The only requirements are that they must be from the same district and still be alive when the games are over.” Music fades out after it, cheery and excited, and Dean knows with a stone cold feeling in his gut that Castiel and Anna are the only pair of tributes left.

He can’t sleep after that, too busy waiting for a bullet to blast through his skull or a knife to bury itself in his back. It’s not that Dean expects Castiel to betray him, just—this is a way out. This gives him something to fight for, the idea that he can bring back part of his family with him, and what Dean wouldn’t kill to be able to do that.

So he gets it. He does.

Before dawn, Castiel rolls over. He fits his back up against Dean’s chest like they always sleep and whispers in his ear, “It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to keep you safe.”

A tear falls out of the corner of Dean’s eye, dripping over his nose to hit  the ground.

Even quieter, so soft Dean thinks he might have imagined it, “I love you, Dean.”

But nothing can stop the calculating looks Anna keeps sending his way after that. She looks more and more devious as the day wears on, pouring rain as lightning crackles over their heads. Dean cannot hear out  of one ear now because of a crack of thunder too close by; there is a strange buzzing noise there where normal sound should be, and it throws him completely off balance.

They’ve long since lost the stream, but Dean doesn’t mind. He can just turn his head up now to the sky and leave the water in his canteen for another day. Castiel walks even further away from Dean than before, glancing back at him every now and then out of the corner of his eye.

Dean wishes he could gather the strength to desert  them while he can, but the truth is he wants to believe in love. He wants to believe that the warm feeling in his chest that springs up unfailing when he looks at Castiel is more than just battlefield infatuation, that Castiel really whispered in the dead of night that he is in love. He wants it all to be true _desperately_.

Honestly, he should have expected this.

Azazel, he expected. Hell, he expected _Anna_ , but he never saw Balthazar coming. And that’s the thing that makes this so much harder to believe, because Balthazar plants his foot on Dean’s neck and stands there looking _bored_ while Anna watches, Azazel nowhere in sight.

“I’m really sorry about this, Dean,” Anna says earnestly, crouching down to look him in the eyes. “I know Cas likes you, he really does. But I’ve got to get him out of here; I promised his brother I would. And you’re just going to get in the way.”

“Do it, then,” Dean chokes out. “Gank me. I hope he never forgives you.”

Anna eyes him for a moment.

“Get off him,” she says to Balthazar. “I want him to die a hero’s death.”

“We’re done here, then?” Balthazar asks. Anna nods curtly at him as Dean hauls himself to his feet, rubbing the side of his neck. “

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Dean,” Anna says.

“I’m sorry, too,” Castiel says, sliding out from behind a tree and stabbing a knife straight up through her chest. Anna’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes, and Dean watches the light leave her eyes.

Anna’s body drops when Castiel pulls his knife back out and he looks at Dean sorrowfully. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I thought we could trust her.”

“But...Cas, you could have gotten out,” Dean says, staring at him. “You could have gotten both of you out!”

“I would have lost you!” Castiel snarls. “What use would it have been to get out of here without you?”

“Only one of us can get out of here anyway,” Dean snaps, eyes flashing. “You could have at least minimized the damage.”

Castiel growls, low and guttural, and Dean actually flinches as he strides right up to level his nose with Dean’s. “If you think for _one goddamn second_ that I am leaving you here, Dean Winchester, you are wrong. You are dead wrong if you think you mean that little to me, and I will get us out of here if it’s the last godforsaken thing I do.”

He leaves Dean there, heart thumping wildly in his chest, and Dean can’t help the glow of hope that grows in him. Picking up his weapons where Balthazar threw them, Dean straightens what arrows are left and runs his fingers down the string of his bow. Maybe, he thinks, maybe if they can figure it out. Maybe.

“That didn’t go _quite_ as expected,” Balthazar says, stepping out for the shadows. He eyes Anna’s body distastefully for a moment.

“Get out of here,” Dean says. It’s a warning as much as a threat.

“I mean, who knew? The one in the dirty coat’s in love with you. Doesn’t he know water works to clean them, too?” Balthazar sighs to himself, picking his steps carefully as he walks toward Dean. “You’re an interesting character, though, Dean Winchester, I have to say. You’re defying all their expectations even after you turned the chessboard around.”

“What do you mean?” Dean says, adjusting his grip on his bow. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

“I _mean_ ,” Balthazar says, rolling his eyes, “that you weren’t supposed to volunteer. You weren’t supposed to be the Boy on Fire or the boy who shot an arrow into the judges. And now, after all of that reconciliation they’ve had to do, you’re running this game. They think they’re in charge with their scientific equipment, but I guarantee that _you_ , the ‘Savior of District 12,’ are the one running this show.” He smirks. “And you did it all for love.”

Dean’s mind is spinning but his hands are steady. “Then you know,” he says, raising the bow, “what I have to do.” Balthazar inclines his head.

“That’s the difference between you and me, Dean,” he says plainly. “You want to go back. Me, well.” He snorts to himself. “I want to die here.” Flashing a smile Balthazar says, “Make it a good shot.”

“May the gods be with you,” Dean says, and he shoots.

Dean hasn’t missed a shot in years. He watches Balthazar’s body crumple to the ground, and he hesitates before walking up to it.

He rolls Balthazar onto his back, pulls out the arrow and zips up his jacket so the hole is less obvious. Dean folds Balthazar’s hands on his chest, careful to make him look like he is simply sleeping. Pulling wildflowers and grass from the Earth, Dean tucks a bouquet under Balthazar’s hand, and he can’t help but think how much of his mother he sees in this image.

“We all deserve to die like this,” Dean says, and before he can stop himself, he starts dragging Anna’s body to lay beside Balthazar. He closes their eyes as Castiel creeps out from the trees, his brow furrowed as he watches Dean.

And Dean begins to sing.

“Hallelujah, the angels sang,” Dean whispers, and his voice grows stronger, “hallelujah. They’re watching over sleep. Hallelujah, the gods will say, hallelujah. You’re here to celebrate the hallelujah, the hallelujah. Hallelujah, you’ll be safe.”

He closes his eyes and turns his face to the sky as he sings again, louder. “Hallelujah, the angels sang, hallelujah. They’re watching over sleep. Hallelujah, the gods will say, hallelujah. You’re here to celebrate the hallelujah, the hallelujah. Hallelujah—”

And Cas cuts him off, murmuring, “Hallelujah, you’ll be safe.”

Dean smiles thinly at him, his eyes watering as a bird tweets out the last few notes of the song like an echo. Falling over himself to twist around, Dean spies a mockingjay in the branches of a young tree, and it sings again as its call is taken up by two more, then three, and even more until Dean can’t tell anymore.

It’s the most amazing sound he’s ever heard, even as it fades into the distance.

“That’s a beautiful song,” Castiel says, offering Dean a hand up. “Where did you learn it?”

“My mother,” Dean says, knees shaking. He can’t let go of Castiel’s hand.

Nodding, Cas kneels for a moment to brush a kiss over Anna’s forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, brushing a hand over Dean’s cheek.

Dean leans in, kisses Castiel carefully. Their lips are chapped and dry, and Dean’s lip is bruised from Balthazar, but it’s somehow perfect. Dean doesn’t know how it can always be perfect with Castiel.

\--

They press on until evening, wandering slowly because the viewers have had their share of excitement for the day. Dean knows their time here is winding down; it’s been close to two weeks and the Gamemakers are losing interest for this year.

Dean knows there can only be one. In the meantime, he’s very good at denial.

A meadow sits in the middle of an open grove, and they stumble into it under the dying sunlight. Castiel says, “Let’s stop here for the night.”

They eat most of the rations left in the backpack—they held out well because game was plentiful, especially after the fire burnt out a section of the forest and drove the animals all away from it. The only strange part, Dean thinks, is that they’re being filmed. It’s the calm before the storm, and he has no idea what will be edited out, only knows that every second of their lives in here is being recorded for posterity’s sake.

“This is probably our last night here,” Dean says as they settle in for the night.

“I know.” Castiel turns to look at him. “You know what they say about last nights on Earth.”

Dean grins and says, “That’s usually my line. Good to know it’s just as painful from the other side.”

Smiling, Castiel leans in until their noses touch. “But I mean it very much,” he whispers just beyond Dean’s mouth.

Dean closes the gap between their lips, humming into the kiss and opening his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze. His eyes are little moons, and the warm, glowing feeling returns to Dean’s gut. He’s in love and he doesn’t think it could have happened any other way.

He pulls Castiel down on top of him because Dean feels like he belongs there, and pours his soul into the sloppy kiss they share. He doesn’t care if people are watching; as long as they can see that this is about more than sex, it doesn’t matter. This is about finding that one person you need like air and drowning yourself to be with them, and Cas is Dean’s life; he is Dean’s angel.

Cupping Castiel’s shoulder blades in his hands, Dean can almost imagine the wings arching high above their heads.

Castiel takes his shirt off, then Dean’s, and skin to skin is an inferno. His hands can’t be in enough places at once, touching Castiel, memorizing him. Dean imagines he can feel love sewn into Castiel’s skin, but he might just be drowning.

“I love you,” Cas says, dragging his open mouth down Dean’s throat. “So much, love you so much.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groans, panting into the night and pushing his hips up. “Fuck, Cas, love you too. Gods, want you so much.” Dean sounds desperate even to his own ears, but he doesn’t care. Everything is Castiel, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his hands, all of him. He is Dean’s as Dean is his.

“What do you want?” Cas asks as he rolls his hips against Dean, gasping at the feel of it.

Dean moans and answers, “Everything. All of it. Want you inside me, Cas, please.”

Castiel’s hips twitch like he can’t control them, and Dean just lets the pool of lust in him take control.

Shedding the rest of their clothes with clumsy aborted movements, Dean finds he can’t let go. He doesn’t want to stay away, wants to make himself a home inside Castiel’s skin and stay there.

“No oil,” Castiel finally says when he tears his mouth away from Dean’s.

“Then use spit,” Dean says. Won’t be the worst I’ve had it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean wants to laugh at that, but he holds back for Cas’ sake. He appreciates the idea of it, but not getting hurt is not the highest priority right now. “You won’t, Cas,” he says. “I promise, I can take it.”

“You have to tell me if you can’t,” Cas demands, moving his hips up and away so Dean has to stop grinding against them and focus on the conversation.

“On my honor,” Dean promises, and that must be good enough for Cas because the next thing Dean knows, a slick finger traces his entrance.

Dean sighs happily into the first finger, accepting Cas’ kisses almost lazily. It feels so good to be full like this; Dean hasn’t felt it in a while. He whines at the loss as Cas pulls his finger out to suck on two of them, and he can’t help his grunt at the stretch.

Castiel freezes immediately. “Okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine, just gotta get use to it,” Dean says, swiveling his hips down to force Cas’ fingers in further. “Now _move_.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel says, “Greedy,” sliding his fingers in and out and searching for that one spot that will send Dean to oblivion.

He finds it on the third try and Dean says, “Not the first time you’ve done this, then.”

“No,” Castiel says smugly, hitting Dean’s prostate and making his back arch. Seriously, it’s been too long since Dean’s done this, and he moans happily. “Trust me, Dean, I can make your body _sing_.”

“Is that a challenge?” Dean says, and Castiel does something with his teeth and tongue on Dean’s neck and bumps his fingers up against his prostate again, and Dean gives a strangled yell.

“Don’t test me, baby,” Cas whispers, hand reaching down to touch his own dick.

“Don’t call me _baby_ ,” Dean snaps, and Castiel actually laughs at him. “What?”

“You,” Castiel says affectionately, carefully pushing a third finger into Dean’s ass. “Is this okay?”

“’Course,” Dean tells him, bucking up into the air as Cas scissors his fingers inside Dean. “Fuck, _yeah_ , god.”

The first press of Castiel’s dick into Dean’s hole feels overwhelming in a way that sex never has before. Dean wonders if it’s always like this when two people are in love, how everything seems to be over-intensified, because he feels like he’s standing right at the edge of a cliff and Castiel is the only thing that’s keeping him from pitching over the edge.

“Dean,” Cas pants into his neck as he buries himself in Dean. “ _Dean_ , I—”

“I know, fuck,” Dean says, wrapping a leg around Cas’ waist to urge him in deeper. It burns, the stretch, but it’s real and grounding, and Dean wouldn’t give it up for anything. “Now _go_ ,” he adds as soon as Castiel stops moving, trying to buck his hips up, searching for pressure, for pleasure, and Cas growls at him.

“I’m only going to go as fast as I want,” he swears. “I promised you I was going to take you apart; now _let me_.”

Dean gapes at him, his heart jumping at the way Cas just lays it down like that, and he whispers, “Please.”

Cas stares at him for a moment, and Dean whines but he doesn’t try to move again. He can go slow, he’s sure—he’s done it with girls before, can’t be that bad.

“Like this, then,” Cas decides, and he starts pulling Dean’s legs up until they’re draped over his shoulders. He can barely stretch into this position, and no matter how far he reaches with his neck, Dean can’t kiss Cas anymore. Cas promises him, “You’ll see,” and he starts to move.

At first, it’s vaguely unspectacular. Still obscenely great sex, sure, but Dean doesn’t see the difference between this position and any other. Not until Cas changes the angle just so, and he hits Dean’s prostate and slides all the way in, deep, deeper, until Dean can barely breathe. Then Cas does it again, slowly, letting Dean feel every bit of friction between them, and he wants to explode.

Dean can’t speak anymore; his words have been all torn out of his throat to make way for the moans that bubble up from somewhere Dean in his chest.

Castiel really is going to tear him to pieces.

He takes Dean to the edge again and again, letting him dip down further over the cliff each time, until Dean is reduced to harsh breathing and hands grappling at Castiel’s back. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, his cock leaking precome, and Dean wants it to be over almost as much as he wants it to never end.

Dean never thought it could be this good as he comes, clenching around Castiel inside him and scraping his nails over Cas’ sides, and a soundless cry tears out of his throat. He might be crying; he’s too gone to tell.

Castiel thrusts in a few more times, movements erratic and hurried, and he bites at the  juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder as he comes, almost screaming like a wild thing.

They lay like that for what feels like forever until Castiel pulls out and flops to the side, letting Dean’s legs fall back to the ground. Dean sighs at their stiffness, flexing his muscles experimentally and deciding it isn’t worth it to try to clean up right now.  He rolls into Cas’ chest just as Cas pulls the sleeping bag up over their cooling skin, and he sleeps.

\--

Castiel is peaceful in his sleep, Dean thinks, watching him silently. The lines around his eyes are smoothed away and his mouth is no longer set in a hard line. He’d look almost like a child if it wasn’t for the rugged beard he grew during the last two weeks. Dean knows his own face can’t look much better.

They’re so close to the end. Dean doesn’t know _what_ he’s waiting for, but he’s waiting for _something_. The Gamemakers will be hungry to close out the game now that a new day has come.

Sighing, Dean buries his face back in Cas’ chest. He’s too lethargic and content to bother waking up all the way. Castiel is warm and solid as Dean slides his head back under the sleeping bag to block out the early morning sun. He’s going to savor this always.

When Castiel wakes up, Dean’s head rises to greet him with his mouth, and they make love again languidly before reality can intrude. After, Dean feels broken, like Castiel has thrown him down and picked up all the pieces to glue them back together.

“They all call you my angel,” Dean whispers against Castiel’s mouth. “Why do they say that?”

“Because I was named after one,” Cas answers. “Castiel, the Angel of Thursday, who fell from Heaven to save a man. He stopped the end of the world because he was in love.”

Dean closes his eyes against the brightness in Castiel’s gaze. “I’ve never heard that story before.”

“It is told in only a few of the districts,” Cas says. “We are all taught the stories about angels, how once they walked the Earth and sought to destroy humanity.” He strokes his thumb under Dean’s cheekbone, eyes soft. “I fell for you, Dean. Anna and I—we could have gotten out, but I don’t regret it. I love you too much to forget you here.”

“My mom always told me, ‘Angels are watching over you,’” Dean says, voice breaking. “She was right, all these years.”

“I’m hardly an angel, Dean,” Castiel says, kissing Dean’s tears away, but Dean just shakes his head.

“No, Cas,” he says, smiling, “you’re not. You’re a man. Only good men fall for love.”

\--

The afternoon comes with dark clouds, casting the world in gray-green light as Dean fusses with the arrows in his quiver for the umpteenth time. The coming storm sits physically in the air, choking him and drawing his soul out into the arena.

When the mockingjays take up the call, Dean knows it’s time.

Castiel loads his gun for the last time. He has ten bullets left and Dean has ten arrows, and if they can’t kill Lilith and Azazel with this, he doesn’t know what can.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, rucking a hand through his hair.

He turns to lead the way, but Castiel says, “Wait,” and stops Dean with a hand on his shoulder.

Dean doesn’t know how he can survive without this now that he has it, because kissing Castiel is always sweet and filthy and full of a promise so large the universe breaks down in comparison to it. Castiel crushes their bodies together, and Dean feels like they could become one person, one soul, one mind, right here in this moment.

For all its emotion, the kiss ends sweet and simple, close-mouthed and sad. Cas holds Dean’s face gently between his palms as usual because it’s his favorite place, barely moving away.

“I love you,” Dean says. It feels like a goodbye.

“We’re going to be together,” Castiel murmurs. “No matter what happens out there, in the end, we will be together.”

Dean shuts his eyes tightly and nods.

\--

In the end, it’s rather anticlimactic. The demon ghosts with the flat black eyes and hissing tongues tear Azazel apart like his strength is nothing, and Dean and Castiel flee to the top of the Cornucopia with Lilith just ahead of them. Dean shoots her down as she tries to send Cas over the edge, and the demons prowl around in wait for the two left at the top.

Dean meets Castiel’s eyes and breathlessly says, “We won,” and Castiel says, “They can take both of us or neither of us.”

It’s the same thing, either way.

Licking his lips in contemplation, Dean nods, and he watches over Cas’ shoulder as a demon materializes behind them.

“Cas, look out!” he shouts, drawing an arrow and burying it in the thing’s head as its fingers grab at Castiel’s hair. Another one appears, and Cas shoots it in a heartbeat.

“Here,” Cas says, fumbling at someone on his belt. “I got—just in case, you know?” He holds out his hand, and Dean recognizes deathberries and he understands immediately, even as he fire his last arrow at a demon.

“Together,” he says, throwing the bow away and reaching for Castiel.

“Together,” Cas agrees, and Dean tips his head back as he moves his hand to his mouth.

Of course the Capitol bows to them.

\--

Gabriel spins out onstage, his smile wide and blinding in the Capitol’s lights. Dean can hardly see anything beyond him because the audience is too dark, but he hopes Sam is out there somewhere with his dad and Ellen.

“You ready for this, kid?” Bobby asks gruffly, clapping a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder.  He doesn’t smell like whiskey for once, and his beard has been trimmed to cleanliness. They couldn’t make him give up his hat, though.

“Ready as I ever can be,” Dean says, eyes flicking over the wing on the other side of the stage, searching for Cas as Gabriel does his thing.

“You’ll be fine. Put in half the performance you did in the games, the audience will be sobbing over themselves,” he says, patting Dean. “Get ready.”

The lights are as blinding as he expects, and Gabriel drags him onto stage with  a hand at his back and a steely grip on his wrist, like he expects Dean to run away. And, well, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing Dean’s tried to do these past couple of weeks.

He smiles, tries to, at least, because they haven’t let him see Cas since the end of the games. Dean feels almost like he imagined all of it, thinks he might have if not for the hole gaping in the center of his chest where his heart used to be.

“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Gabriel says with a slick grin and a flourish, “I give you the one, the only, Dean’s angel, _Castiel Novak_!”

Dean’s mind stops working.

Cas is there, looking healthy and clean, and his arms are already reaching for Dean even before he gets a quarter of the way to them. Dean shakes Gabriel off forcefully—he even tries not to hurt the guy, but he’s not sure he succeeds—and runs to Castiel, his uncomfortable shoes slipping on the floor.

Kissing Castiel again is like coming home. He wraps Dean right up in his arms like he never wants to let him go, and it’s so clear that Dean never imagined a second of this. Everything’s right where it should be, only now they are alive and there’s no threat of death hanging over their heads. Melting into Cas’ arms, Dean feels like he’s beat something greater than the Capitol—he beat destiny.

“Hey, come on, slow down there, lovebirds,” Gabriel says, grin frozen in place as he tries to separate Dean and Cas. They don’t move far, just enough that they can turn slightly out to the audience. Dean sees his face in the feedback screen above them, but he only has eyes for Cas.

“We’ve got one more surprise for you,” Gabriel says. “We received a very heartfelt plea from a young man not five days ago, and we instantly decided, well, why not? Bobby, darling, why don’t you bring him out?”

Dean turns to look where Bobby’s leading out a tall, lanky boy with floppy hair and wide brown eyes, and the world stops.

“Sammy,” he whispers, and Sam launches himself at Dean.

He gets an armful of Dean and Cas both because they haven’t let go, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“God, _Sammy_ ,” Dean says, and he tries to keep him there, tries to make sure the three of them can stay there forever, but Sam has other plans.

“I am never going to forgive you for what you put me through,” Sam swears, pulling away gripping the back of Dean’s neck with his hand like he’s not sure Dean is real. His face is a mess of tears. “And you,” he says to Cas, “you. Thank you for saving my brother.”

Dean hiccups trying to keep a sob in, and Sam breaks out in a watery grin. That’s his baby boy.


End file.
